Corruption
by ApprenticeofDoyle
Summary: After the fight is over for the Winchesters and they quit the life, Cas, Sam, and Dean retire and find themselves finally at peace. But when an enemy from the past comes back with a vengeance and blackens Cas's grace, their new life shatters. Will the Winchesters be strong enough to fight off their best friend- and will they be able to save Cas from himself? Shipping. Slow updates.
1. Prologue

{Warning: there be monsters (aka Evil!Cas) ahead, and he's not a nice fellow.}

_**Prologue **_

"Do it," he orders, his deep voice quick and sickeningly eager.

"I can't," Dean whispers, the gun in his hand trembling as his hand shook. He grabs the gun with both hands, trying to steady his aim. Sweat slickens his palms and his forehead and he locks his jaw, feeling the dangerous prick of tears in the back of his eyes.

He hears him inhale sharply, and Dean can't help but flinch at the impatience behind it. He steps closer to his right, moving into Dean's line of sight. Dean tilts his head down to avoid his gaze, because he can't see- he can't see what this is doing to him.

He does not appreciate weakness.

Dean's stomach drops as he feels his hand fall on his shoulder, gripping tight enough that Dean has to press his lips tightly together to keep from crying out. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his shoulderblade, and Dean feels hot breath on his neck. Goosebumps spread down his spine and Dean tries to steel his expression.

"Do it," he repeats, voice dipping into a chilling growl. At one time, Dean would've punched him for talking to him like that. Would've whirled around and pointed that damn gun at _his _face, instead of at the only person in the world Dean's heart still beat for.

That was a long time ago.

"Cas..." He finds himself pleading, even though he knows it's pointless to try. God knows how long has begged, for such a long time. But Dean gave up on him the second he gave up on himself. Yet what he's asking him to do now- he can't even stomach it. _Please don't make me do it, God, please. _"Cas...I know you're in there. Deep down- if there was ever a time to come out-" his voice breaks but he has to finish- "-now would be...great."

His hand slackens on Dean's shoulder for a moment, and for just a second Dean allows himself to hope.

But it's in vain. He only slides his hands down Dean's scarred arms, stepping closer and pressing his chest to Dean's back. His strong, pale hands grip Dean's shaking gun and make his aim steady. Then, slowly, he snakes his neck around to Dean's level, brushing his rough cheek with a cool lip. Dean still can't meet his- _those _eyes- he squeezes his shut.

"Dean, Dean...Dean. How many times can I tell you? The Castiel you used to know is dead. I took his place- I'm the true Castiel now. And your pleading won't change that. Won't bring him back." His words send icy tremors through Dean and they when they meet his heart he can't stop the pang of loss, can't stop the hot tear that escapes from his tightly shut eyes.

"But you're not my Cas," he chokes, his throat closing up in grief. That traitorous tear streams down his face without a sound, and Dean tries to ignore that sick warmth that shivers through him as Castiel's tongue flickers out to taste it. He presses his cheek against Dean's, and he can feel the skin in his face tighten as he smiles, savoring the salty pain in the tear.

"No." Castiel laughs darkly. "...But you, Dean Winchester, are _mine. _Your mind. Your body." He slides his teeth lightly across Dean's ear, making him shudder. "Your heart...your soul. Every part of you belongs to me, Dean. I'm asking you to do this for me. One simple thing. Naturally it will hurt, but the pain will fade. I promise you that." For a moment, a flicker of pain works into his cold voice. But like a blink or a brush of summer wind, it's gone.

"And then nothing will contest your affection for me, nothing will worm its way between us. That's what you want, correct? To be with me...forever?" He pauses, a tip of his lip curling. "Don't you love me, Dean?" He makes his voice questioning and he furrows his brow, putting on the old Cas face that used to be full of compassion and kindness, but now knew only malignance. It's all for show- he knows what the Winchester's answer will be.

"Yes, Cas," Dean breathes, his green eyes slowly opening to reveal anguish- but resolved anguish all the same. "I love you more than anything." His voice quavers as it passes from his lips.

"And I you," Castiel says, baring his sharp, white teeth in a victorious smile. "Now...pull the trigger. Please, Dean...for me."

"Yes, Cas," he repeats, voice numb. His expression slides off his face like water. "I will...because I love you." He lifts the gun slowly, and Castiel gives his arms the strength to hold it steady- while locking them upright. Dean swallows roughly, trying to shove down the horror of what he's about to do deep inside himself.

There's no turning back.

The subject on the receiving end of the pistol stirs briefly in his chair, his eyelids fluttering open as he wakes. An aching moan rattles from his throat and he tilts his shaggy head, shifting his blood soaked, matted hair out of his face. He tries to move but the ropes keep him tightly bound to the chair he's sitting in. Eyes darting around wildly, they eventually lock onto the gun pointed at his face, and travel to the face of the man with his finger on the trigger.

"D...Dean..?" he whispers faintly, his body freezing in the chair. His brown eyes widen in horror, fixed on his brother's face. "D- Dean- what're you doing? Dean?!"

Dean presses his lips even tighter together and he looks at his little brother with all the sadness in the world etched on his face. Sam's eyes flicker to the dark Castiel looming over his brother, a glacial smile on his face and eyes alight with twisted, eerie triumph. A frightening smile curls Castiel's lips upwards, silently victorious, and Dean closes his eyes once again.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

He squeezes the trigger.


	2. Chapter 1

{Warning: language, shipping (aka man/man) and violence ahead.}

_**Chapter One **___

Four Months Earlier 

It used to wonderful. It used to be wholesome, used to be beautiful.

Dean's life used to be awesome, or at least that during period of time when the Earth was no longer in danger, when he and his brother weren't perpetually on the run from God-knows-what or struggling to fight an ruthless enemy with cataclysmic intentions. When the Winchesters were safe and problems and warriors of perdition and nirvana were miles behind them.

It was then that Dean Winchester's life was finally peaceful.

Sam, Dean, even Cas had all decided to slam the door on that bloody chapter of their lives- deciding that if they were gonna live past forty that had to call it quits. For good. It had been one of the hardest decisions Dean had ever made, because besides the fact hunting was all he ever knew, he had accepted a while ago that when he died he was gonna die young, in a bloody fight with a gun in hand- trying to save yet another innocent life from the jaws of a hellish creature or ghost. And turning his back on all those people who were still being dangled in front of monsters like worms on a line was definitely one of the more selfish choices he'd made.

But the Winchesters had done their _part. _Sacrificed more than enough to earn a long, calm break from the blood and the death and the pain. They'd lost nearly everything but each other keeping the world from plunging into flaming oblivion, and they were done. Out of the business. Retired. Monster hunting for them was _over. _

But like the end of every chapter or story there's always a loose end.

That loose end happened to lurk in wait, until their guards were down and they were at a point where pain would hurt the most. It waited until it could finally bite them in the ass.

And bite them in the ass it did.

It was true that Dean's life had a tendency to spiral from complete happiness to utter shitstorm, and often it wasn't his fault- but this was something he should have seen coming, something he should've anticipated and prepared for. But in his rare, overwhelming period of happiness, his let his guard lower and turned off his hunter mind. And then it happened- his life was plunged into a dark pit and he got dragged down with it.

It had been a warm, blissful night in June. The house where Cas, Dean, and Sam lived was small, but cozy out in the middle of forest in nowhere Kansas. The house had been abandoned and practically falling apart, but with a little TLC (as Sam so girlishly put it) it had become a home- a safe haven for the ex-hunters.

Cas and Dean had finally kindled a relationship after a month of living together- and honestly, Dean couldn't even remember what spurred the dive for Cas's affections if he tried. All he knew is one day- luckily alone in the kitchen- Cas said something that made Dean lunge forward and plant his mouth on his like a crazy fangirl would upon seeing their favorite TV star. He remembered Castiel practically shutting down with shock for half a second, and suddenly they were on the frickin' roof of their house and Castiel kissed Dean back so passionately he thought he would melt into a absurdly happy puddle- that or fall off the roof.

Because, even though it still escaped him, Castiel felt the same. The fucking _same. _It was the greatest thing to ever happen to Dean, and to be honest every single person who knew them breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief when they made their relationship public. In fact, Sam's first words were "It's about freakin' time, you two."

Cas and Dean couldn't have agreed more.

Dean wouldn't lie- being with Cas, an angel of the Lord, was no friggin' picnic. On top of being completely virgin (in every sense of the word) in all aspects of a relationship, he was often detached emotionally and sometimes irritated Dean to no end with simple lack of consideration. But Dean knew it wasn't his fault- the fact the poor bastard could deal with his emotions for the Winchester without combusting was a blessing. And now it really was okay that Cas annoyed him sometimes- because there was _makeup sex. _(Yeah, yeah, plus they could always forgive each other out of the undying love in their hearts but the for Dean he practically looked forward to their next fight so they could get hot and heavy).

Damn, for a angel virgin Cas was good in the sack.

Sam was only just getting back into the dating scene with strong encouragement from Dean and Cas (well, encouragement from Dean and small agreeing grunts from Cas) before the small apple pie slice of paradise shattered for them.

That night, that goddamn night in June, was when their old life came back with a vengeance.

Dean and Sam had just gotten back from a late grocery run because Dean had the craving for Chinese food. The house was quiet, as usual, and the lights were off. Dean wasn't bothered by this, however- Castiel didn't need light to see (he was like a freakin' bat) and the summer sun was just setting in the pink-violet sky. He remembered Sam pausing at the door with a perplexed look on his face.

"What?" he'd asked, relatively unconcerned but constantly aware of his brother from years of honed hunter instinct. The younger Winchester had just shaken his shaggy head, his furrowed eyebrows lining his forehead.

"There's...I feel like I'm missing something." Although it escaped them at the time, Sam later realized it was the incessant noise of the cricket chirping- or rather, the lack of it. The night, normally alive with wildlife activity, had been completely silent. "Musta forgot something I wanted to get at the store."

"You mean the cashier lady's number?" Dean asked, his eyebrows leaping annoyingly around on his brow. Sam rolled his eyes while Dean opened the door with a free hand, one arm clutching white bags of food. "She was undressing you with her eyes the whole time- even gave you flirty look when she scanned our meat. Our freaking meat, dude."

Sam grimaced. "Um...no. Just no. She was like...mid to late forties and-"

"I thought you went for the more experienced gal, Sammy," Dean replied with a chuckle, stepping inside and chucking the Impala keys on a small table to the side.

"Shut up," Sam retorted lamely, unable to keep a laugh out of his voice. His smile, however, quickly faded from his face. His eyes widened in shock. "Dean..."

His brother's muscles locked down after hearing Sam's voice drop to a cautious whisper. Expression turning stone cold, his hazel eyes darted around the living room. He surreptitiously set down his grocery bags, sliding his pistol out of his pocket and giving Sam a knowing look. His brother mimicked his movements, drawing out his knife and steadily walking towards the hallway leading into the dining room. He eyed what alerted him in the first place with concern- a scarlet smear of blood, slathered across the wall like a child had been let loose with a paintbrush.

For the first time in a long time, Dean felt the stirrings of panic in his gut, scraping and clawing its way to his heart. _Stay calm, keep your head. _But all that played in his mind was a slideshow of his worst nightmare- a crumpled form, skeletal wings scorched black, beautiful blue eyes staring at nothing- _STOP! _Dean shoved down the hysteria. To bury his worry, he starting thinking about what he was gonna do to the jackass who broke into his house.

It wasn't gonna be pretty.

Sam crept down the hallway corner, stiffly stepping over a body lying facedown in a pool of sticky blood. Leading into the dining room, Dean took point and covered all sides of the demolished dining room. There were a few more bodies found in the wreckage of the dining room table.

_That's my Cas, _he thought humorlessly, a sick feeling growing as the body count tolled higher. The table was smashed and the lights were blown out of their socket, spreading pieces of broken glass across the room that cracked underfoot. Chairs were broken and blood stained the once beige carpeting.

But what really pushed Dean off the edge was something much more shocking.

Dean's knees felt weak upon seeing the hundreds of charred, blackened feathers lining the ground. They were long and at one time sleek and the inky color of an oil slick, but now were practically ashes, as if someone had taken a lighter and lit each one on fire. They weren't burned into the ground like that of a dead angel, rather scattered around the room like nightmarish confetti. Dean's stomach dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Oh God," Sam whispered. _What could've done this? _

Dean nearly fell to his knees, buckling and kneeling in front of the cascaded remains of angel wings. He tenderly scooped up a singed feather, cradling it in his hands like it was Castiel himself. Dark blood stained the burnt black quill and the realization stabbed Dean in the chest like a white-hot poker. The feathers looked like they'd been ripped out as well, feather by feather, and he felt a dizzying wave of nausea. Dean delicately brushed a finger across the soft down at the bottom of the feather, feeling his eyes prick with angry, scared, horrified tears.

"Cas?" he gasped suddenly, feeling desperate for air. He jerkily got to his feet, still holding the feather, and looked wildly around the room. Castiel's body was not in the room among the broken and dead. Sam hurried down the hallway to check the rest of the bedrooms, face overwhelmed with worry.

"Cas! _CASTIEL!" _Dean's voice was a scream now, terror coiling in his chest up into his throat until he felt like he was suffocating._Cas! _he prayed. _Where are you?! I'm here, please, come back! _His heart beat frantically in his chest, each thump sending a wave of new pain through him as the lump in his throat grew larger. His widened eyes burned and a trickle of a tear leaked down his cheek, and Sam came back into the room with a tight shake of the head.

"He's not here," Sam said hurriedly. "That's- that's good, right? Means he's still-" Sam's voice broke off upon seeing the devastation on his brother's face. Crystalline tears were steadily dripping down the older Winchester's face, and his red eyes were unfocused.

"They did this to him, Sammy," he whispered, as if he hadn't heard a word of what Sam said. "They ripped out his wings- feather by fucking feather." He turned to his brother, face crumpling. "They _tortured _him. And I wasn't here. I. Wasn't. _Here! _I didn't help him- I didn't protect him, GODDAMMIT!" His voice became shrill in hysteria, and Sam stumbled forward, placing both hands on his older brother's shoulders.

"Dean-" he started quietly, but Dean's shoulders trembled and jerked away. Sam didn't let him, clamping his fingers tightly on his shoulders. Dean's eyes lost focus again, staring at nothing.

"I should've protected him! I should've stayed-" His voice stumbled and he had to swallow hard to even force the next words out. "He's gone. They took him, Sammy. They took him away- away from _me." _

"Dean," Sam whispered, voice twisted in grief at seeing his brother so destroyed. "We'll get him back. Wherever they took him...we'll find Cas."

"Damn right we will," Dean whispered, voice growing grim and hardening. He sniffed, straightening his spine. His tone grew dark, menacing, and his expression became a cold slate. His hazel eyes blazed with fury. "And when we do...whoever took him will wish they'd stayed in hell. Because it's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to them."

xxxx


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two **___

Three Weeks Later 

"Dean."

"What?"

His brother's voice is taut, curt. Cold. Sam practically shivers at the borderline hostility haunting his brother's voice. It's been like that for some time now...almost three weeks.

Ever since Cas disappeared.

Sam keeps going, for some reason urged by the sound of Dean's voice. "Stop the car."

Dean seemed to know already what he was going to say. "Fuck you. We're thirty minutes away." Sam blinks, surprised, but his eyes flicker with restrained irritation. It's misplaced, he knows it. Dean's anger is too.

He tries not to let his own anger bleed through his words...it doesn't exactly work. "Fuck _you. _I don't care how close we are to the next ice cold lead. Stop the damn car, Dean."

Pulling the side abruptly, the Impala jerks to a halt and Dean's neck snaps to his right, fixing an icy glare on Sam.

"What?" he practically spits, eyes darkening as his eyebrows slant in anger. Sam sucks in a deep breath and meets his brother's eyes. The absence of engine noise leaves the interior of the Impala empty and cold despite the July heat outside, and Sam tries again not to shiver.

"Dean." Sam's voice was calmer now, but still held the determination fueled by his brother's outrage. "We need to find a hotel. And you need to sleep."

Dean's eyes are the color of a raging hurricane, forest green and raging, and they bore into Sam's own like knives. "We'll be up to the next crossroads in half an hour. We question it- like the others. Then we find Castiel." Sam starts to open his mouth, but Dean vehemently cuts him off. "It's _simple,_ Sam. If it doesn't talk we make it talk. Eventually one of them has to know where he is- it's been three weeks already, Sam! And we haven't fucking found him yet! If we don't find him soon I'm gonna-" Dean cuts himself off there before his voice can start to crack, and he steels his expression again. But not before Sam's green eyes glitter with compassion.

Dean tries to ignore that goddamn puppy-eyed look his younger brother was giving him and slides his angry mask back on. But his rage cools to a degree as the anger shifts targets- from Sam to himself. "I haven't found him yet, Sammy. But I have to. And I will. If it's the last thing I do."

Sam sighs. "Please. Dean- you _need_ sleep. We're not gonna find Cas any faster with you so exhausted."

"Do I look exhausted?" Dean growls. There are dark circles under his eyes and the skin under his cheekbones is slightly gaunt, accentuated by his poor pallor. But his face is stern and his jaw is sternly set. Not to mention that fire burning in his eyes.

Sam just raises an eyebrow and continues. "It doesn't matter what you look like, Dean. It's been three weeks. Three weeks since you've gotten more than an hour of sleep every, what, three days? Jesus Christ, Dean. Not to mention food. When's the last time you ate?"

Dean purses his lips, nostrils flaring. But as he speaks his expression steadily grows more agonized. "I don't give a rat's ass about sleeping right now- not when Cas is out there, probably being tortured by some psychotic demon bastard and every second we waste talking about this is another second he has to fucking _wait-" _

"Dean!" Sam can't keep his voice from a shout this time. It's killing him, hearing those words, knowing they were true, seeing that pain on his brother's face. It's almost too much to stomach. "At least- at least one night. One night of sleep. The crossroad will still be there. The demon will too." He feels like a selfish dick, asking it of his brother, let alone asking it of the angel who has to wait longer for them.

"And so will Cas," Dean whispers, his voice so low it became a rumble, cracking like dry earth.

Sam feels his throat choke up in guilt, but he stares at his brother until he gives a watery groan of what he hopes is assent. His eyes slide out the window as the last few weeks sweep through his mind.

The search for Cas has been, if possible, even more obsessed than the hunt for Dick Roman- because it was both Winchesters this time, throwing themselves back into their old life without a second thought. Both Sam and Dean- were frantically working together against time to bring back their only friend, the only _family_ they had left. And in one piece, alive and breathing.

And Castiel _had_ to be alive. They- whoever the hell they were- wouldn't have taken him, tortured and kidnapped him, just to kill him. No, whoever took him needed Castiel alive. And despite how grave that was, it's what Sam and Dean had relied on the most.

Dean's turned off all of his emotions besides determination and anger. He won't let himself despair, won't let himself grow distraught or curl into a lost, sobbing ball like the smallest part of him wants to. Not when Cas is still out there, in the grasp of psychotic bastards who are most likely torturing him at this very moment. A couple minutes ago was the most choked up he had gotten since that fucking night in June.

The way Dean rushed forward, pouring through clues and data and lore with no sleep and little food is almost scary to Sam. Not almost, it _is. _Frankly, Dean's behavior is terrifying Sam. He's remained strong for his brother's sake, shoved aside his own worry for the angel so he could be there for his brother in case he fell apart, but now it seemed that Dean didn't need anyone or anything to find Castiel. Just air to breathe and gas in the Impala.

It's even worse than when Dad or Bobby died.

That night, after hastily packing up their gear and clothes, they had sped out in the Impala to the closest crossroads they could find to demand of the demon where the hell their angel was. It had to have been demons, of course. There were no scorched wings in their home from the bodies left there, and the house had reeked of sulfur with particles of the yellow substance scattered over the crime scene that used to be their living room. They had pondered summoning Crowley but last time they saw him he'd been practically human and had been evidently whisked back to Hell- the King of Hell had left no trace of himself and he hadn't been heard of since. It was more likely a powerful demon who wanted revenge on the Winchesters for a possible myriad of reasons- God knew how many creatures they had pissed off in their day.

He remembers the reaction the crossroads demon had had when seeing the infamous Sam and Dean Winchester, the greatest and most hated hunters of the century standing there with weapons drawn and fierce determination in their eyes. The look on her face- which had been naturally pretty in the way crossroads demons' tended to be- would've been almost funny if Sam and particularly Dean hadn't been so enraged. Dean had been seconds from strapping her down right there and then and torturing her the way the demon Alastair had taught him- to Sam's absolute horror- but he also knew she didn't know a thing. He could just tell, tell by the way she had balked and cowered under them, artless terror in her red eyes. He stopped his brother from doing the deed, terrified of what further damage would be done to him if he did, and because he knew it would have been futile.

Dean killed her the second he realized she was useless.

It was the look on his brother's face when he killed that had deeply disturbed him- almost more than his threat of torture. That senseless, haunting rage that twisted his features to something akin to an animal. Every good thing about him vanished during that second, leaving Sam cold and worried about what this would really _do_ to Dean. He imagined it would be just the same if someone had taken him instead of Cas- realistically, he knew he'd be fueled by the same insane drive to get Dean back. Plus Cas was..._Dean's._ But even so...

He had told himself, half to ease his own vexations about the disintegration of Dean's conscience, that the second they found Cas he would be back to same old Dean with same old moral qualms and light in his eyes. The Dean who could laugh, make corny pop culture references, and sing to hard rock like an idiot.

At the thought of music, Sam's eyes flicker to the dormant stereo in the Impala, taking care not to let Dean catch him looking at it.

Dean won't listen to music anymore.

That seems so insignificant, as it would've been if it was someone else. But it isn't someone else. This is his big brother.

Dean loved music. It was his own pastime, his way to get lost in thoughts and lift his spirits. But he hasn't played a single tape since Cas left. Refuses to listen to the radio. Occasionally he'll listen to news radio in case there's any kind of demon activity, but that's it. It's further proof that what's happening to Dean isn't just shredding his conscience, but stripping off the good parts of him that make him Dean. This realization makes Sam feel even worse.

The thirty minutes pass faster than he expects, and soon they're parked on the side of the road. Dean opens the door and slams his boot on the ground, a expression of fierce determination on his face, with the pinch of anger that was almost a given with him now. Nostrils flared and eyebrows slammed down, his face is as intimidating as it could be, and when Sam clambers out of the car into the evening heat, he feels the familiar wave of worry.

That worry gets stronger and stronger every fucking day.

The evening is sweltering, but calm. The lush violet of the sky is streaked with vivid orange and pink smears near the horizon, and the sun has disappeared beneath the blurred green edge of forest hills miles away to the west. They're in a town so deserted there isn't a name for it, just a random gas station two miles away in rugged East Kentucky, on all sides confronted by hilly mounds of green. The crossroads are barren and gravelly as most country roads are, and the stillness of the night fills the younger Winchester with a telltale sense of dread. _This isn't going to go well,_ it tells him. It's an instinct he knows is all too correct.

So far none of this has went well.

He lingers near the car door, and watches silently as Dean yanks a handful of anti-demon weaponry and the necessary ingredients for a summoning out of the trunk. Clomping over to Sam, he shoves a gun and a pair of demon cuffs into his arms without a word, then steps into the intersection of the crossroads. There he stoops, kneeling abruptly onto the dirty ground and then digging into the dry earth with a small garden shovel.

A wild urge to speak, to shout or to scream something- _anything _at all because he just needs Dean to _see-_ pries open Sam's mouth without his permission.

"Dean," he says quietly. He realizes he has absolutely nothing to say, and regains control of himself. He clamps his mouth shut, unable to express the wordless, tumultuous emotions that knots in his chest like barbed wire. To his slightly saddened relief, Dean doesn't give him any notion that he heard him- whether he had or not is unfathomable, since all Sam has to guess from was the quick, driven movements his brother is making. Dean straightens, swiftly burying all the dirt with a boot and stamping it back down.

Then he backs up two steps. And waits.

For a moment, it seems like nothing is going to happen. Like maybe the demons finally got smart and decided not to show up that day- having discovered exactly who was knocking on their door, and what they planned to do. Sam isn't surprised- it has been on the demon radio for weeks now that Sam and Dean Winchester were tearing up the country, slaying demons left and right in their search for the angel Castiel. It wasn't the first time the demon had decided not to show. Basically, they spooked every them all until they eventually stopped coming.

But then they got smarter.

It was Sam who had suggested the idea- placing someone else's photos and belongings inside the crossroad deal box. He honestly didn't think it would work- tricking a demon isn't exactly easy to do. Especially with something so unoriginal and, quite frankly, simple. If Dean had been his normal self, he might have said something like "It's so simple it's stupid". But he wasn't his normal self, and anything that would let him get his hands on another demon was something he was willing to try.

But Sam still couldn't believe his luck. Or the demon's vulnerability. He'd originally thought that, certainly, the urge to answer a deal- so long as it wasn't with someone on Hell's Most Wanted list (which Sam and Dean most definitely were)- was a choice. They wouldn't be so stupid as to show up at the deal-makin' spot without the slightest notion of who was there and what they wanted- demons were way too suspicious for that. Sure it was their job, but demons valued their own lives as much if not more than humans did, and they weren't stupid- at least, not the crossroad ones.

It was basically a 'what the hell, let's just fucking do it' plan- that had worked out surprisingly in their favor. Sam hypothesized all they saw was the identity of the person in the photo and _boom- _"Hello, doll, what can I do for you today?"

Man, demons are stupid.

All of them realize their mistake the second they see the angry mug of Dean Winchester bearing down on them, as wrathful as any warrior of God. All it takes it a devil's trap bullet or a cuffed arm and before they can say "Oh, shit" they're on their knees and they're Dean Winchester's little bitches.

This time it seemed they'd finally figured it out. Sam would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved, a little bit at least.

A throaty gasp broke through Sam's thoughts and suddenly a beautiful, red-eyed brunette was in front of them, horror etched on her face. Her scarlet eyes darted around wildly, from Dean to Sam and her lips twisted from a seductive smile to a surprised, defensive snarl. She was literally one second from getting the hell out of Dodge when-

_Bam. _

The sound of the gunshot nearly made Sam jump as Dean pulled the trigger on his weapon, firing the devil's trap bullet straight in between the demon's eyes. She gasps again and sways, but her feet are held firmly in place and she opens her mouth slightly, ready to flee her vessel, when to her utmost horror she realizes she can't. Her eyes grow even wider and terror forces a choked moan from her throat.

"What...what is this?" she cries, her voice wavering and pathetic with fear. With confidence her voice could have been sultry and smoky, but not it was cracked with terror.

Dean walks forward slowly and purposefully while Sam hangs behind. He's seen this before, and Dean's the one running the show. He wants no part in what Dean has planned, despite his own hatred for the creatures. There were lines he wouldn't let himself cross anymore, not since he became soulless. As for Dean...Sam tries.

But no one makes Dean Winchester do anything.

Sam doesn't need to see his brother's face to know that it's colder than ice and darkened in smoldering fury. That mask he always wore when he set about his form of interrogation. Sam was terrified Dean was one day going to wake up with that mask permanent on his face, and that the Dean Sam used to know, his big brother and closest friend, would be lost forever.

_Focus. _The younger Winchester forces his brain out of his concerns and into the situation he's in, right now. He slides his knife into his pocket and holds his gun tightly in his hand, so tightly his knuckles turn white. Dean is inches from the demon, and while she tries to hold her ground like the bad little demon she is, her body cringes anyway.

"I don't know where he is-" she yelps, skipping all the 'I don't know what you're talking about' bullshit and heading straight to the pleading. Dean's arm jerks forward and snatches her by the chin roughly, halting her words as he cuts off her airway.

"Castiel." Dean says the name with such definity and such magnitude Sam nearly trembles. The demon most certainly does, her red eyes flicking to a dark brown. It made the fear in her eyes all the more real and the unease in Sam's gut grow more. They weren't humans, they didn't deserve his sympathy, but he couldn't help but think of the people inside, the people Dean was hurting in order to get their angel back.

"I don't know where he is," she gurgles, voice strangled but insistent. Her tone, despite its garbled nature, is obviously laced with fright.

"I don't believe you," Dean says simply. Simple and cold, that's how he usually keeps it, even when he's covered in blood that's not his own and screams are penetrating the nights. Sometimes he loses control, lets out his frustration on whatever's in front of him, but he thinks himself weak when he does that. He knows it makes the demons think he's weak too. So he reigns himself in, shoves any scrap of conscience he has down deep inside, and soon finds himself slicing, cutting, burning.

All it does is damage. Damage everyone.

Sam's throat seems clamped together, and the pit in his stomach grows larger and larger. His gun shakes in his hand and he tries to goad himself into toughening up, tells himself he's being a pussy and that this is the real world and that it's the only way they're gonna get Cas back.

He doesn't believe himself for a second, but still he doesn't move. God knows what Dean will do if he does.

The older Winchester still has the demon's chin gripped tight, his short nails digging into her soft pale skin, and his breath huffed from his flared nostrils short and angry. But that was all the anger he was going to show tonight, if he could help it. With a free hand, Dean draws the demon cuffs up and dangles them around on a finger. The demon follows each quick swing with her eyes and gulps.

"I don't know where he is." Her voice has dropped to a whisper. Dean's expression doesn't change. "But..."

Sam nearly starts at that 'but'. _A lead a break a clue oh god have we got one finally?! _

Dean's expression still doesn't change, but something shifts in the wall behind his eyes.

"Tell me."

His voice transcends an order or demand, it's a fucking command. It holds all the warning that if she lies she'll regret it. Regret it until she draws her last godforsaken breath.

She opens her mouth with some difficulty considering Dean is still clutching her chin. He interrupts her once before she can drag a word out.

"If you lie to me, I won't kill you." She pauses, brought up short in confusion.

"I won't kill you," he repeats, cold and blunt like a knife, but slow like he's speaking to a child. So it can sink in. But the words are all too cruel for a child, too cruel to be said by a good man's mouth. But right now Dean is not a good man. Everyone knows it, knows that Dean isn't bluffing either.

And when her eyes widen in realization Sam knows they finally have something.

Because that threat meant Dean would keep her alive.

Alive and screaming.

Sam doubts anyone in the world would hold up against that threat.


End file.
